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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588383">sometimes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearegoingtodie/pseuds/wearegoingtodie'>wearegoingtodie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, also others are mentioned but arent really...like characters so much, enjoy though, i mean kind of suicide attempt, like not intentional but the intent is there nonetheless, probably badly written, probably really really triggering, this is just a shitty vent fic lmao</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:14:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>873</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588383</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearegoingtodie/pseuds/wearegoingtodie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>i wrote a vent fic. i dont know man, its 12am, im just sad, i wrote this in at most 7 minutes so enjoy</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sometimes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pink and red stood out violently on pale white skin. Silver makes line after line of shining crimson and fleshy peach. Scars of ivory color slowly covered by far more pigmented colors. The human body made some incredibly beautiful colors like purple-blue-yellow bruises. And those purple-blue-yellow bruises stood out on such pale skin, and they were everywhere. Collarbone, chest, thighs, and calves littered in mostly blue bruises and sometimes a big white scar showed. Cuts ranging from artificial to deep enough to bleed out littered the tiny 5’1 frame of this particular boy. Vibrant violet eyes stare down apathetically at the littered mass of somehow paler scars covering all sides of his arms. The boy himself was short and skinny, a malnourished looking child that any average person would take pity on and buy lunch. However, his personality tended to steer even the kindest away. He was good at a very select few things. He was good at inflicting pain and lying and they were mutually exclusive. He was well aware of both of these talents and he used them well. After all, what kind of ultimate didn’t even know what they excelled at? </p><p>Kokichi Ouma was an odd case. The boy smiled his usual far-too-cheery smile as he watched cherry-red blood spill out of new cuts on his left forearm. The intricacies of a liar who knew few things about even himself laid bare when he took knives to his body. It was often that this happened, and almost always on the roof, as well. It was so fresh and freeing so high up...he almost felt like he could jump! But maybe he was so light he’d just float back up...or was that a lie? It was high up there regardless, and sometimes Ouma would spend so much time on the roof, looking down at the ants of his classmates and feel lightheaded and happy. The highest place in the school and the easiest place to die. It brought him a sense of ease to stay there, and sometimes he would sleep there, and sometimes he would have to leave when the space idiot and his murder-y girlfriend came around to stare at the stars, but they’d always look at him with a mix of anger and confusion. Sometimes the piano freak or her boy-toy detective would ask where he’d been all day, and Ouma would tell them he was in their rooms, obviously! And they’d panic or yell at him, but at the end they’d always look at him questioningly and his arms would ache again. It was a true tragedy he’d chosen white as D.I.C.E.’s color because it really wasn’t optimal for hiding blood, so he’d invested in stealing bandages from Mikan Tsumiki and spending more time on the roof. Ignoring his classmates and teacher (who used to teach all of his favorite upperclassmen and really knew how to find people, apparently) was easy enough most times. The roof had three sections and if they searched it, he’d just...move around. Sneak. Stealth 100. And it worked, so he’d spend even more time looking down at everyone with dully interested and mesmerizing purple eyes. His weapons all eventually got stashed in random places up there, on Hope’s Peak high school’s roof. Razors, pocket knives, broken glass-even needles-got stored away in corners and beneath tiles. Any and everywhere. The same soon applied for bandages and more lies were spilling from his cracked and sinning lips. So many lies about his arms, and where he was, the pain, the pink and red staining everything and anything he owned, and he felt dirty, at the end of it, and went back to those knives and razors and needles-</p><p>It got to the point, where he simply didn’t come off from the roof anymore. His malnourished body was even worse off and the scarce amount of water he got felt like too little for his parched body. People were looking more and more for him and at this point, his weird straightjacket-looking outfit was more pink than it was white. His scarf was always tied to restrict blood flow wherever the worst cut that day was. His arms no longer had open space to slash and stab at, but a needle was almost always stuck in some part of them, whether just for pain or to remind himself of his purpose, he was unsure. Ouma had moved to his thighs and stomach which went quick. The needles felt good there...they hurt so wonderfully, and Ouma wondered if this was what getting high felt like. His phone died a long time ago.</p><p>His unconscious, barely breathing, and near-frozen body was discovered within the next five hours. There was little shock from anyone over the state he was found in. He was left in the care of Mikan Tsumiki and his classmates came one by one to see him on what could’ve been his deathbed. Kokichi Ouma wasn’t dead yet, but as his dead eyes stared at his classmates and they talked and talked and questioned him, and his arms and legs and chest ached, and his breath created a mist in front of him, he wished he was.</p>
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